With the Midshipmen, 18th May

"My grandfather," Fletcher said. He shrugged, picking at a splinter in the rail. "There isn't really anyone else, and he'll want to know everything that's happened - which way the wind was blowing, casuality lists, when they struck, what tactics the captain employed... All things I can't tell him, because I couldn't see what was going on."

"You could ask Mr Leat to take you through it, shot by shot." Mr Leat was the most approachable of the Lieutenants, and would possibly be impressed by young Fletcher's interest. "We could, if you were worried about him. They ought to want us to learn more, and I didn't see much down on the Gun Deck either," just Frenchmen who wanted to kill him, one of whom he had killed... "So if we're keen, then they'll be happy. But I suppose you've already written, and sent it home from Lisbon. Like me. We'll do it next time - go and see Mr Leat together, with our journals, so we can get it right, and learn from it."

"Oh. Oh yes." Fletcher quickly averted his eyes, not wishing to admit that he had put off writing his letter, and it still lay half-finished in his sea chest. "But I don't know how much good it'll be asking Mr. Leat - he was knocked over the head before the end of it."

"Well, the Captain was injured as well, but I'm sure he will have written it up to the end - based on what he's been told. I don't think the Admiralty would be satisfied with a dispatch on a battle which is full of 'I was looking the other way at the time,' and 'I can't tell you how it ended because I got wounded'." He grinned, imagining it. "And the important bit - that your grandfather will be interested in most - is how we fought the ship and brought her alongside." Peter looked pleased with himself for what he saw as very nautical phrases. "The Captain and Mr Leat weren't injured until after we boarded her - so they should know about winds, and sails and relative speeds."

Fletcher's expression brightened a little.

"If we were to ask Mr. Leat together, perhaps? Seeing as we both want to know, and learn. Perhaps we could maybe even ask him if the captain might explain it to all of us in the berth?"

After all, they were all here to learn how to be officers; they should start to do so.

"Because Chandos and Dan will be going for lieutenant soon - or fairly soon - and they need to know. Though perhaps they already do." Peter frowned. "We will ask him. There will be time, before we get to Oporto." He remembered how chaotic everything had seemed, as he forced himself to concentrate just on that one thing he had to do, and not to think about other things - as he was doing now. "We'll ask," he said. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

Fletcher nodded in agreement, then looked up at Yates hopefully.

"Do you want a game of cards? Slater must be wondering where I've gone, and he seemed like a nice fellow; nicer than De Guarde - I'm glad he's below decks."

Cards was one of the few things that Fletcher was better at than the rest of the berth out together. Chandos always said that the next time they touched shore they would take him to a gambling den and he would win heaps of money for them. Fletcher doubted he could, but he did not imagine that Chandos would ever seriously follow through with his plan.

Peter felt his muscles tighten, but he forced himself to relax and smile. "I'm sure you fuzz the cards, Simon. But you know what they say - lucky at cards, unlucky in love." Anyone - any thing - was nicer that de Guarde. There were rats in the cable tiers that were... "Yes, Slater seems very pleasant. Blame it on me - something I ate at dinner."

"We must have both ate it then, me having been gone so long," Fletcher looked earnestly a Yates. "Would you, Peter? You can play a decent game with two, but after a while it starts to get boring; three or more is always better."

"Of course I will. At least until 7 bells - I'm on next watch." Peter looked out over the sea, towards the unseen coast of Portugal. "It'll be up to me to ensure we don't run aground." He tapped Fletcher on the arm. "Not dinner - something we bought from one of the bum boats. That way, it will explain why the others aren't ill too." A slight hesitation, and a troubled smile. "Another lie, Simon. Don't let me lead you astray."

Fletcher's face broke into a wide grin.

"Let's not waste any time then. And don't worry, I'll clean you out as revenge if you lead me astray. Let's go and find Slater-" But as he turned he saw the new Midshipmen was standing the other side of the deck, he himself looking out to sea over the opposite rail. "Oh, but there he is. Mr. Slater! Mr. Slater, we're back again!"

Mister Fletcher's hail stirred him out of thoughts about what he'd seen of the crew and officers. Embarrassed to have been caught in such a contemplative state, Slater turned to answer Fletcher's call with a smile and raised hand.

"Aye, you are. You are both well after your walk, I hope?"

They seemed about to return below, so he went forward to join them.

"Oh, better," Fletcher said, eagerly leading the way below. "Mr. Yates and I think it was something we ate bought off a bumboat, but it'll pass. We can pick up our game of cards, and Mr. Yates had concented to join us too."

Excellent. Slater smiled happily and stepped slightly back to allow the two other midshipmen to make their way below ahead of him.

"Good to hear you both are recovered. Being ill is never fun. I put all the cards back up into a deck, I'm afraid, so we'll have to deal out new hands."

"We won't let Simon deal them out, because he always wins anyway." Peter looked up at the older boy and tried a smile. "I suppose he has to be good at something."

"Does he?" Slater returned Yates' smile with honest goodwill. "I should admit to being not so good at cards, so I'm sure to prove unequal to you both."

"Are you lucky in love, then?" he asked, the dimple making one of its rare appearance.

At this, Slater blushed. "Er, well... can hardly call it lucky, really..."

Peter went back into the berth, and picked the cards up, patting them back into shape, and sitting down at the table. The light in the berth made it easier to see the remains of the flush. "Did you go ashore in Lisbon?" he asked. "Are the ladies there beautiful? All flashing eyes and fans, and lucious long black hair?"

The Portuguese ladies had indeed been beautiful. Slater nodded. "Aye, I was ashore, but only for a day. The ladies were the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen!"

"We were hustled past anyone interesting," said Peter, without much real regret. "And the only women in church were the wives and daughters of the soldiers - or English civilians. But you could see that there were beautiful women, gazing down on us from behind those screens upstairs."

Fletcher wrinkled his nose in displeasure, watching as Peter dealed out the cards again, sitting on his hands as he was accustomed to so the others couldn't accuse him of cheating.

"Not much to fuss about them anyway - and if they want to lock themselves away then let them; I don't suppose anyone will miss them if they've never met them."

"You have to be a very respectable person before you are allowed to meet a lady like that. Not a mere midshipman. Probably only Captains, and Generals are admitted." Peter grinned. "But there are ordinary girls out there, not just - I mean, you know, Simon."

Slater felt his blush fade, just a little. "Ordinary girls can be excellent in their own way," he remarked, accepting his cards from Yates. "But they are all beautiful, ashore."

Fletcher shrugged.

"There's pretty girls and there's ugly girls," he said simply, accepting the cards that Yates handed out and turning them over to face him. He frowned in thought, as he was always accustomed to whether the hand was good or bad. He would have to watch himself with these cards...